Two weeks of classes have passed. Week three has begun. The numbers in attendance waxed and waned (from 2 to 14), but I now have a dedicated core group that I look forward to seeing each night. This past Friday, the volunteers from Africa Impact came to assist as conversation partners for my students who are struggling to maintain chitchat with English speakers. I’d set up “conversation stations” around the room with lists of multiple open-ended questions, mini white boards, and back-up questions for them to use should the words fail to come. Before anyone showed up, I was hanging a world map on the wall and playing dance music for my own amusement. Very quickly, I found I was not alone. Kids from the nearby compound came in and started dancing in the middle of the room. During a wiggle break, they went to find me tape and scissors and helped me hang the world. It was incredible. Smiles, giggles, curiosity, clapping and hips swaying, I was too enamored to stop for my camera.
Six students shared five fluent English speakers that night. The volunteers were from America, England, Iceland, and Denmark. My students had been practicing all week at how to introduce themselves while shaking hands, asking questions, and encouraging an authentic exchange as opposed to smiling, pointing, and walking away with embarrassment. They executed their intros like pros. The back-up questions were never touched. They soared. I beamed. It could not have gone better. The fifteen minutes we’d set aside for this exercise turned into thirty and could have gone longer but it was dinnertime and dark. I walked home that night with the corners of my mouth wrapped around my ears. But not before my students made me crumble.
As they were helping me pack up to leave, we talked about my remaining weeks. A new schedule was just approved wherein I will teach four classes instead of one. Victory! This will allow me to reach those who can’t currently attend my adult English literacy class because they live too far away and don’t have transport. A car will be provided to take me to them, starting tomorrow. I’m also offering smaller classes to those with special needs: for example, my men who need to study for their 9th grade equivalency exam. I have men in their 40’s who never went to high school, so passing this test is a big deal. With five kids and a full time job, they still want (and need) to learn. This is very exciting, and they’re thrilled for the additional help. I was telling them what to expect for the next three plus weeks when they asked when I was coming back. They didn’t want me to leave. What will they do without me? How long will I stay when I return? I swear my heart melted and I had to hold my hands against my chest to keep a puddle from pooling at my feet. During our photo session that night, they’d all started chanting my name. This, we did not practice. I knew the need for this type of instruction was there, but actually facilitating it is a different thing. Humbling doesn’t even come close. More like breath taking. Jeepers crow if I didn’t want to hug them all right then and there and not let go.
Things are getting better on the personal front as well. I’m no longer the loner on base. The volunteers have gotten used to me. I think it was the gin and tonics. Or the candles, canoes, Kafue River, and card games. It happened because of the apes, which is the best part. But let me preface this with a disclaimer.
I do not condone the use of apes for human amusement. They are wild, powerful, highly intelligent, potentially dangerous animals that should not be concerned with humans. And yet, Zambia does not have native apes. We’re too far south of the equator. The apes here are all orphans from countries further north: some were privately owned, some witnessed their parents slaughtered for bush meat, all were rescued from other less respectable environs. The apes of Chimfunshi may have miles to roam, but they are captive. They are allowed to breed. They do not adhere to zoo standards. Coming from a very reputable zoo, I have to stop myself when I fume at the contents of their diet or lack of enrichment items. Compared to most sanctuaries in neighboring countries, they’re doing pretty well.
Like all institutions, this one has to make money. Part of their income is a result of “bush-walks” where one keeper, a few chimps, and a handful of visitors walk into the woods together, making physical contact for a memorable tourist experience. These apes are well behaved and mostly well mannered, but everyone is cautioned and told to expect the unexpected. Everyone who goes is taking a huge risk, as chimps are unpredictable animals. That said, these apes know what to expect and appreciate the treats waiting for them in the pockets we’re all required to wear as we walk.
I went on a bush walk a few days ago. I wanted to see what actually happened, and since I am in Africa, I couldn’t go home without this experience. Because two of our volunteers leave tomorrow for their homes (Belgium and Copenhagen), this was their final bush walk and there was room in the car. I was told to pack a lunch and prepare to be gone most of the day. Rubber boots were provided before we left: a full body suit was provided on site. We were allowed one camera that the keeper had to carry, and we had to remove all jewelry. Our pockets we stuffed with bits of bread (this is one of the many moments when I cringed…processed flour is not part of their native diets and I’d never seen an ape eat white bread, but it was too late) for them to forage. Walking through two sets of locked metal doors, we entered their world. They approached nonchalantly. The chimps ranged in age from 5-14. There were males and females. We sat on a fallen tree as they expertly took their treats from our pockets down to the last crumbs. Sitting next to us, on our laps, and turning us over and around with their strong hands, we were literally manhandled for food. It took me a while to get over the surreal feeling of their fingers on my body. This was against everything I’d been taught and my conscious was fully aware that I was breaking countless rules. But the keeper had us covered and pretty soon the alpha female took one of us by the hand and headed into the trees. It was time to walk with the apes.
The next two hours were a combination of bliss and alarm. I had an ape jump on my back for a ride, and then on my front for a ride. I groomed an ape. I watched them climb gracefully high up into the trees above to pick new, tasty leaves. I even used my hands as a cup so that one of them could drink cold water from a pond without getting her face wet. Being there, alongside them, was intense. On alert for anything abnormal or sudden, it was hard to relax into the surrealism of the experience. The most peaceful moment was while grooming. The female who let me dust the dandruff out of her fur closed her eyes and peacefully surrendered while my fingers worked. These moments I will never forget. The keeper told us how relaxed they were with us. Thankfully everyone I was with was intelligent and mature and knew how to handle themselves. I was the oldest of the bunch, but perhaps had the least amount of anthropological knowledge. No one lost a finger. We were very lucky.
Afterwards, we met Sheila, the founder of Chimfunshi. She’s lovely, but quieting down with age. I told her what an honor it was to be here and that I read her book before coming. That pleased her, although she said little as she passed around the guest book for us to sign. Then it was off to canoe in the Kafue River, which the sanctuary boarders. As it was myself and five volunteers, three people in each boat, there was mandatory bonding as we navigated entrance into the river and down it. By that point, we’d survived the bush walk and a level of trust had been established. Observing someone in the direct company of apes is quite telling. How they behave, what they say, what they expect: it speaks volumes. The weather was perfect as birds soared above us and the occasional local waved from the shore. After paddling awhile, we found a place to pull over and eat our picnic. Someone had brought speakers that hooked up to their phone (these darn kids and their gadgets) and we chomped away to music and story telling. Then the deck of cards came out. I was in. They taught me a few games. It was good old-fashioned frolic.
Two nights later was a marathon of cards and alcohol. Lit by candles and the moon, we trash talked our way through victories and loses. The next morning, a bit worse for wear, we all bathed in the sunlight on the patio of the Education Center with our books and hangovers on the cool cement. I can survive this place as long as I have this: a connection with my ape family. The ones who speak English, are learning English, and communicate by gesture in the universal language we all understand.
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